


i'll give you my heart (and the rest is up to you)

by blanchtt



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 02:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: "I really do get more and more in love with you," Anne says, and Ann on top of her can only wrinkle her nose and laugh.





	i'll give you my heart (and the rest is up to you)

**Author's Note:**

> Moments in a marriage.

_i._

The church is cool and filled with amiable voices, service ended, and leaving it, leaving behind the solemn darkness and walking out into early spring and greenery and York, almost takes her breath away. That, and the thought of what they’ve just done, the ring on her finger, Anne besides her. 

Anne offers her her hand as she climbs into the carriage, just as she did when she descended it, and later, home, there is no need to ask Anne to come and stay all night.

  
_ii._

_ I really do get more and more in love with you _, Anne says, and Ann on top of her can only wrinkle her nose and laugh, because only Anne could say that and make it sound like a compliment, like the warm and loving admission it is. But Anne says it slow, hand slipping up her side, bright and shiny eyes, and tears won’t do right now, so Ann leans forward, kisses her, and reminds her what they’re celebrating.

_iii._

There is a peck and a _ goodnight _, and then falling asleep curled back against Anne's stomach, and the night almost passes just as the day did—unassuming, modest, another among many, with Anne about the grounds walking and talking and improving Shibden and herself and everyone around as always, and herself riding or reading or painting.

But she settles in, comfortable, and then there is Anne nuzzling against the back of her neck, a deeper breath in and a hand sliding down her stomach, and Ann reaches back to hold Anne to her, passion a brook overflowing its borders with spring rain.

_iv._

There is plum pudding in bed, for just the two of them. 

“Stir up, we beseech thee,” Anne says, tongue in cheek and barely hiding a mischievous smile, and oh the kiss is messy and sweet with the taste of sugar on their lips and body quick and warm with desire, with the feeling of Anne’s hand slipping up her thigh. "The wills of thy faithful people.”

_v._

Her wife is willful just as much as she is, and it’s the date of their anniversary once again and they shouldn’t be fighting, and so Ann takes a brush and sits behind her as a peace offering before bed, undoes her curls and brushes them out, a dark wave against her wiry frame, the stubborn set of her shoulders. 

But as usual there’s nothing so big as to stay mad about, in the end. Anne's mind moves much too quickly to go to bed angry.

Ann moves the collar of her wife’s nightshirt out of the way, bows her head and places a kiss on the curve of her shoulder, nips at the tendon there after a moment and hears Anne chuckle, troubles forgotten at least for now, and she lies back as Anne turns around, settles against the duvet and pillows as Anne settles atop her and smiles.

“I love you, Pony,” Ann says, whole body meaning it as she arches up against her wife, eager, and Anne's hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing slow against her lower lip before she leans down and kisses her, murmurs into the kiss—

“I love you, too, Adney.”


End file.
